


(Fucking) Harry Fucking Potter

by bixgirl1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of implied sex dreams?, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Annoying feelings, Draco being a dick, M/M, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Post Hogwarts, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Sort-of-friends to Lovers, based on art, secret pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 03:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: It had to have been a dream, didn't it?...Fuck.





	(Fucking) Harry Fucking Potter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mzuul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mzuul/gifts).



> For [mzuul](https://mzuul.tumblr.com), one of my very favorite drarry artists. I adore not only your style, but your feel for Harry and Draco, and when I saw your most recent [piece](https://mzuul.tumblr.com/post/182591586906/i-love-this-trope-so-fucking-much-never-gets-old) (GO LOOK AT IT RIGHT NOW, EVERYONE, I AM NOT KIDDING), Draco started muttering in my ear like the total snot he is. I'm sure that this is nothing like what was in your head and I'm so sorry for that, but you're an inspiration and a half, so I hope you'll forgive me, <3
> 
> Many _many_ thanks go out to my betas, [m4g0rtz](m4g0rtz.tumblr.com)   
> and [julcheninred](julcheninred.tumblr.com) for their fast, clean beta, and encouragement. <3 You guys are the best, seriously.
> 
> All characters belong to JKR and associated publishers.

I woke up covered in a cold sweat. Fearfully, I groped out with one hand to find the bedding beside me empty but for dry, rumpled sheets. I relaxed. 

Just a dream then. 

I’d had them before, though of course they remained impossibly unpleasant. Harry fucking Potter, the bane of my existence. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he practiced Legilimency on me from his quarters down the corridor just to drive me ‘round the bend, but no. Potter’s far too straightlaced — far too _straight_ — to try anything like that. And it hadn’t been this bad in years; it had to be the working with him that was damaging my psyche. It had got to the point where I almost preferred the dreams where he slashed me to ribbons, or never returned for me in the Room of Hidden Things, the dreams where I was wasting away in Azkaban. Healthy, Draco. 

Rubbing over the damp chill on my brow, I tried to moderate the frantic kick of my heartbeat. I felt achy. Restless. The dreams were getting too vivid. I resolved then and there to actually look for a way to cancel our sessions. 

I rolled onto my back, letting the soft pop of the fire and the tick of my antique clock calm me, and drowsiness returned. The creak of an elf tending to my laundry or the lamps in my room sounded, and I yawned. Other than the Manor, this was the only place where the ambient sounds had ever brought me such comfort.

The elf crawled into bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate it. On the verge of sleep, I let it settle against me, its lean, warm body nestling close, its head fit into the crook of my neck. I fit an arm under its shoulders and sighed. Felt the brush of hair against my jaw as it pressed its lips to my collarbone and— Wait.

_Wait._

My eyes flew open, and I caught a glimpse of wild black hair in my periphery. It was—

Fuck.

No.

Shitshitshitshit _shit_.

* * *

_Five Hours Prior_

 

Potter stared at me. I stared back. He looked confused, oddly stricken, and the disconcerting pulse of energy between us transformed into something more familiar — at least until I broke our gaze. 

“But McGonagall wants us to meet,” Potter finally said.

“She wants us to share observations on students,” I corrected, breathier than I’d meant to sound. I cleared my throat. “But there’s no rule that says we have to do that together.” 

“Wait—” Potter’s brow furrowed and he grabbed the loose sleeve of my robes. He brooded silently for a moment. “What are you doing, Malfoy?”

What I was doing was breaking from what was turning into a very weird routine between us, and in truth, I was relieved to still have the ability to do so — which, honestly, I’d doubted. There was something about our meetings each Tuesday and Thursday night that were rapidly becoming too enjoyable, Potter leaning over my back to compare notes of students’ strengths and weaknesses, his breath nudging my ear and huffing warm with laughter when I told him to back the fuck off. I still wasn’t accustomed to the new angles of our… whatever it was we had. Harry Potter had always been — _would_ always be a thorn in my damned side. We may have had to work together, but there was no reason he should expect more than that just because we were in each other’s pockets twice a week. It was untenable, and sooner or later someone would pay. 

(It would be me, of course. Harry Potter never paid for anything and I knew that for a fact; countless restaurants refused to present him with a cheque when we found ourselves shopping for our classes in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, as though they’d rather go bankrupt than take a Sickle from one of the wealthiest wizards alive.) 

What was worse was how we’d been ending the meetings of late: Potter had taken to walking me back to my rooms and lingering at my door, a curious look to his face like he might say yes to an invitation for a nightcap, and there always seemed to come a tense moment before I closed the door. It was a far cry from the inscrutable glances he used to throw in my direction from his spot at the head table when I first got hired. Frankly, it was unnerving, and I thought it better to nip it in the bud before I did… anything— namely, anything inappropriate that might result in me getting hauled off to Azkaban. 

Of course, I couldn’t say any of that. I shrugged instead. “I’m prioritising. You’re simply not worth the amount of time we spend together every week.”

It was at least a partial truth, in more way than one: conversations and occasionally tea were responsible for our lengthening sessions, and considering I’d gotten up at five o’clock that morning, I wasn’t chuffed to be falling into my bed at eleven. Besides, the more time I spent around him, the more often the bastard was in my head.

Potter made a small, irritated sound and dug his fingers tighter into my sleeve, almost warningly. I shook him off and he said, “Malfoy, where is this coming from?”

I sighed, adopting a bored expression. “Have you forgotten we hate each other?”

“Yes.”

My eyes snapped to his. Fucking liar. Potter had hated me since we were children; there was no way a year of sharing a teaching fellowship would change that. Not if my feelings hadn’t changed— and they emphatically _hadn’t_. 

Well, mostly. If you disregarded how frequently Potter managed to sneak into my mind while I was tossing off, but I found that irrelevant. And not particularly new. I’d gone through the same phase as most of the students in his year, after all. 

But hating Potter? That part hadn’t changed, and it had served me too well to give it up. It entertained me when I was young and bored enough to stay up all night making badges, and it soothed my pride when he stood up for me in front of the Wizengamot. Hating Potter had even distracted me from my nerves the first week of my fellowship, Potter always in the background as chatter from the students — who quickly learned their discussions about Defence while in Potions would cost them House points — and glowering at me in the corridors. I hated everything about the man. Perhaps stubbornly, but it was… comfortable.

“Fine,” I said, sniffing. “Only one of us has any common sense, then. I wish I could say I was surprised that it’s me, but...” I waved a hand at him.

Potter folded his arms over his chest. “You’re scared of me. I bet you don’t even know what you _want_ , what you—”

I scoffed and turned, talking over him. “Fuck you, Potter.”

I really did hate him. I hated the easy, friendly smile that creased his face, and the stupid jokes he made about how I’d tempted him into midnight duels at the age of eleven as though our entire history was so damned amusing. I hated the flare of heat I could always feel from his magic, even for the simplest of spells (not to mention what it felt when I saw him duel). Most of all I hated how he could instantly revert me to that fifteen year old boy again, sneering and smug for getting the final parting shot. 

Only it turned out not to be, because Potter snagged the back of my robes and spun me ‘round with dance-like swiftness to knock my back into the stones of the castle next to my door. His upper lip curled, and I glared at him, my heart in my throat.

“ _What_ did you say you want to do to me?” he asked, voice dropping low. It was intimidating — or might have been, had better sense not prevailed. Potter didn’t want to be fired any more than I did, and McGonagall was one of the only people in the world who would take him to task for hexing me. 

“ _Fuck_ you,” I snapped back succinctly, a split second before the rest of Potter’s question registered. _What did you say— **you want to do to me?**_ But even as the words ran through my mind, I couldn’t process them. And then Potter’s mouth was covering mine, and… well, that took a bit longer to process. So long that Potter’s tongue, still faintly sweet from the treacle tart he’d consumed after dinner, managed to coax my mouth open; so long that when I finally recovered my senses enough to push him away, I had to unlock my arms from around Potter’s waist first. I wiped at my mouth, slick with Potter’s kiss. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You made an offer,” Potter said, not looking anywhere near as poleaxed as I felt or he ought to, in my estimation for someone who’d never shown any inclination he was attracted to men. In fact, Potter’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, and he seemed… Well, there was no way I was going to put actual words to the look on Potter’s face, for once. But the scowl he’d been wearing in direct complement to my well-perfected sneer had vanished. Potter lifted his chin, chest heaving lightly. “I accepted.”

I spluttered. “I meant—”

Potter took a step forward and kissed me again, an obvious ploy to shut me up. But he gripped my hair with one hand and fisted the other tight into my robes, tilting his chin into the kiss. 

“I know; I like bottoming,” he said, feeding the words breathlessly into my mouth and making my cock jump. An overwhelming, nameless sensation made me dizzy; Potter not only knew what bottoming was, but liked it?

_Potter?_

I opened my mouth to ask, but I was still being assaulted by his kiss, so I only managed to slip my tongue into his mouth. Then he groaned in that horrible way he tended to do when eating dessert — _Every. Single. Night._ — and I found myself yanking Potter closer by the hips and flipping him so he was pressed to the wall instead. I couldn’t even say why I did it, except that it might give me the freedom to get away from where he’d pinned me. But even that didn’t work as any sort of excuse when the first thing I did was scoot us along the stones so I could blindly open the door to my rooms… where Potter promptly stumbled inside with me and lashed out with one foot around my legs to kick it shut, then hiked his knee up to my hip, his lips hot and intent on mine the whole time. I pulled out of the kiss with a gasp of realisation that quickened my breath. 

“You’re Harry _Fucking_ Potter,” I said, but it came out rough and dazed rather than with the cold disdain I’d intended. This was a— a game. A trick, perhaps. He didn’t hate me, my perfect arse. Sure he didn’t. And I had a rule, anyway, about letting myself become someone’s experiment. Potter needed to _go_ , or at least confess what the bloody fuck he was up to. I reached once more to wipe away the throb of Potter’s mouth so I could demand just that, but Potter’s head got in the way, first with another hard, hungry kiss to my lips, and then with an open, biting one just under my jaw. Shivers zipped down my spine, weakening my knees, and Potter hummed and nipped at me again. 

“And you want to fuck me,” he murmured. I couldn’t even be bothered trying to dignify that with the response that came to mind: _Of course not._ Even I didn’t believe it — my head was spinning, all of the blood to my brain having migrated south at the light, woodsy scent of Potter’s cologne surrounding me, at the deliberate rolls of Potter’s hips against mine, brushing our stiffened cocks together through our robes. I paused teasing Potter’s lips with my tongue to wonder when I’d started participating in this nonsense enough for my persistently half-hard cock to get the idea it was going to have something better to do than get pulled off in the shower. But Potter made a small sound of approval, and his arse was cupped in my hands, and Potter’s erection was _right there_ , and the objection I’d been about to form was lost in the fray. Potter squirmed a hand down the back of my robes, palm warm on my skin, and I pulled Potter’s leg higher around my hip. 

“Nnngghh,” I said, and Potter closed his eyes, nodding as if I’d agreed, as if it was the most brilliant thing I had ever uttered. He let his head fall back as I massaged his arse, each squeeze rutting him harder against my groin. Potter’s glasses were tipsy on the bridge of his nose, his lips kiss-swollen and pink, and a growl burst from my throat as the urge swept over me to _do things to him._

It was an urge I had long ago learned to ignore, and quite successfully, too. The one that whispered in my ear when Potter had handed back my wand after my hearing, the one that tingled somewhere beneath my breastbone when he leaned over my back to examine the papers we were discussing. It got relegated to some hidden corner of my mind without thought these days; a footnote, a nuisance I could usually overlook.

Then again, I usually didn’t have Potter clinging to me and moaning, cock so hard that I could feel its every little twitch and jerk, even through the layers of material between us. 

“You’re straight,” I tried to point out. It was exceedingly difficult to force the words out, proof of his arousal pressing against my pelvic bone. Obviously, he wasn’t—

“Obviously not,” he said, reddened lips curling up to one side. He rocked against me for emphasis and, well, fuck. There was another reason, I couldn’t fuck him. Wasn’t there? I scrambled to collect my thoughts, biting back the urge to toss him onto his stomach right over the arm of my sofa. Oh. Yes. 

“We hate each other,” I reminded him again as he finished — finished? — unfastening my robes and ran his hands over my shoulders to push them from my back. He unknotted my tie with an infuriating laugh. 

“Get over yourself, Draco,” he said. He curled the two loosened ends of my tie around his fist and tugged me into another kiss, starting on the buttons of my shirt with his free hand. I tangled my fingers in all of that wild black hair and violently yanked Potter’s head back; I couldn’t _think._ Potter stared at me. Smirked. Then he peeled my shirt off with a rather challenging glare and tossed it to the ground, and my breath exploded from my lungs. 

“Well, _I_ hate _you_ ,” I snarled, with a pointed scrape of my teeth into our next kiss. My whole body was hot with rage and suppressed desire, years’ worth, it felt like, and I bit down on his lip. The bright tang of blood overwhelmed the lingering flavour of sugar on Potter’s tongue, and it cleared my head a bit, though the way Potter sagged in my arms threatened to distract me. We did hate each other, we _did._ We… We _had_ to. 

Potter groaned and licked over his lower lip where my bite had split the tender skin, then sucked, almost experimentally, on my tongue before pulling away. His hands found my belt between us and I tried to refocus. 

“Kick me out, then,” he said, unclasping it. His eyes were dark — that enthusiastic trademark green swallowed by lust-blown pupils — but they crinkled at the corners. “Tell me you don’t want me.” 

I sucked in a breath as Potter nimbly opened my flies. I couldn’t risk the sight of my own arousal, Potter’s hand so temptingly close, so I looked at the ceiling, then closed my eyes for good measure when Potter tugged down my boxers and freed my cock. The words were on the tip of my tongue: _Get out. I don’t want you._ Potter wound a firm hand around my erection and gave it a light squeeze.

“Hate sex can be a satisfying indulgence,” I choked. I’d heard as much, at least. 

“You are such a bastard,” Potter said. The insult sounded— strange. Light. I exhaled and opened my eyes to see Potter grinning. He swiped his thumb over my cockhead, spreading the moisture he found there, tingles racing up my shaft, then lifted his chin and tugged on my earlobe with his teeth. “Want to hate me in your bed for awhile?”

I groaned and said, “Fucking Merlin, _yes_ ,” because my body apparently wasn’t going to listen to higher logic at the moment, and— hell, why not? Potter was _offering_ himself to me, and I knew I certainly wasn’t responsible for whatever he’d drunk in his tea or been hexed with. I didn’t even know of any potions or spells that affected someone’s sexual orientation, so there was no way I could be held accountable for wrongdoing in this instance. I’d even been, well, not _noble_ , but argumentative. Potter was just revoltingly frustrating to argue with when he gets an idea in his head. My dick was so hard it almost hurt, and my chest felt— 

“I want you walking funny in the morning,” I said, dipping my head to catch Potter’s mouth in another kiss. Potter smiled against my lips and released a shaky little puff of air, thumb still moving over my leaking slit as we crossed through my living quarters to my bedroom. I jerked helplessly at the touch of his fingers and fumbled with the clasps of his robes. It took me a few moments, but I finally got them open just as Potter released his grip on me and flattened his palm over my racing heart to push me away. The backs of my thighs hit my mattress and I tumbled backwards to the sound of Potter’s laugh. His face was alight, and he whipped off his glasses and tossed them onto one of my pillows, then stripped off his trainers and socks. I struggled onto my elbows to watch — hate sex, as far as I was aware, was generally a one-time thing, and this would likely feed my wank-bank for years if I paid attention — and held my breath as Potter met my gaze and continued disrobing. He slipped his robes from his shoulders, the material bunching, then let them slide off him, one arm at a time.

Slowly. 

_Slowly._

Dear Merlin, what the hell was he doing? “I didn’t ask for a bloody strip tease!” I barked. Potter chuckled and flashed me a veiled glance from under his lashes. 

“You didn’t ask for any of it, right?” he asked. “So I may as well do what I want.”

“I’m putting that admission in my Pensieve if I need to,” I muttered sourly. I could hear my pulse in my ears. Hate sex was supposed to— to be a certain _way_ , was the thing, fast and then over, not… 

Looking at me, Potter unbuttoned his jeans and flipped up the hem of his t-shirt. He rubbed his knuckles over the line of hair that trailed into his jeans. He was fitter than he looked with his robes on, his stomach taut and narrowing to a defined v at his pelvis, his belly button an imperfect, mostly flat circle that made me swallow back a flood of saliva. It was a secret weakness of mine, a gorgeous belly button above a dark feathering of hair, and Potter’s lips quirked like he knew it. I gritted my teeth and Potter’s grin renewed; he tugged his t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the ground, then covered the bulge in his jeans with one hand. He gripped his cock. Stroked over it.

“Hate what you see, Malfoy?”

I licked my lips and swallowed again. I didn’t know if I’d ever hated him _more._ My own hard on was straining, the head jerking wet against my stomach, my trousers and pants down to my hips. I rubbed over my dick with the heel of my palm, then gripped the base and cleared my throat. “Absolutely. So if we could get this over with…?”

Potter nodded, a swatch of satanically dark hair falling over one eye, and inched his zipper down to reveal grey boxer briefs. His stomach fluttered, caving in briefly as his gaze landed on my prick. I gave it a rub to shine him on. Potter fucking _leered_ at me, the tosser. “Yeah,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you getting too uncomfortable or anything.”

“So you say, and yet I notice you haven’t started riding my cock yet.”

“Is that what I’m doing tonight?” Potter asked, one brow lifting. He nudged his jeans down further so they hung loose around his hips; they were gaping open, the outline of his cock obscenely swollen through his pants. 

“You could suck it first,” I suggested snidely, mostly to keep from begging him to do _anything_. Fuck, at this point I’d be fine with him finishing the handjob he’d started, as long as it got me off and got him out the door. But Potter didn’t react to my tone; he merely slipped a hand into his pants and started pulling on his cock as the oxygen fled the room. Stupidly, I kept trying to fill my lungs, which resulted in the most pathetically strangled sound I’ve ever made in my life. “Fucking hell. Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Potter said. “But I’m damn good with a blowjob, too, if that’s how you prefer to start.”

“I—” My throat closed up. Potter flashed me another smile and stepped forward, between my splayed legs. He dragged his fingertips over the loose waistband of my trousers, my boxers, carefully avoiding contact with my cock, and then abruptly grabbed them and tugged them down, hard enough for the fabric to burn my arse. I hissed and lifted my hips, and Potter wrangled my clothing off, kneeling down as he went. He plucked one of my shoes off, the other, gaze flicking from my prick to my face, breath ghosting over my bollocks. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

My voice came out thin. “Suck.” 

“Oh, god.” Potter’s eyes fluttered, open and shut and back, warm palms coming up to rest on the bare tops of my thighs. He leaned forward to mouth at my bollocks, slurping them noisily into his mouth, one after the other. He ran his tongue over the soft skin of my sac, each lick a tease of intense pleasure, each pull of his mouth skittering electric shocks through my system. I tightened my fist around the base of my prick as Potter released my bollocks with a soft, wet _pop_. He blew on them, pebbling my thighs with gooseflesh and hardening my nipples, and nuzzled the damp crease of my thigh with his nose. So quietly I almost didn’t hear him, he said my name.

“What?” I forced my neck to work and looked at him.

Potter shook his head. He shifted, rising higher onto his knees, and licked his way up the soft trail of hair on my stomach, then twisted his head and pressed his cheek to it, tongue darting out to drag warm and slippery along the vein running up the side of my cock. It jerked and Potter hummed, glancing at me once more; he skimmed his open lips over the head and pressed the tip of his tongue to the slit. 

I _yelped_ — for fuck’s sake, Draco! — and saw the gleam of white teeth behind a crooked smile before Potter suddenly swooped in, batting my hand away and replacing it with one of his own. He lifted my cock with a decidedly charming snort of laughter when I glared, and slid his lips over the head... and _sucked_. The hand holding mine guided my palm to rest on his head; good thing, too, because I might have torn through my bloody sheets, Potter’s mouth working magic over my prick like that. I threaded my fingers through his hair and gripped it, gritting my teeth as he coaxed my foreskin back with his lips and tongued underneath it. I arched, shoving my free hand into my own hair, my thighs tensing and bollocks throbbing with the need to come, forestalled only by the tightening of Potter’s hand. He bobbed his head, saliva dripping down my shaft, his gaze on my face whenever I pried my eyes open long enough to look down. 

“You’re going to make me...” I groaned, back bowing. I wanted to force him to take me deeper, to swallow around me, but couldn’t imagine it feeling any hotter than it did this way, though it was far… _prettier_ than I’d thought it would be, even in the most secret recesses of my fantasies. In those, we fought before and after, even during, and part of me wanted that, needed it even. There was no part of me that had prepared for Potter to pay so much attention to how he might make me feel good. My vision went blurry around the edges, and I pulled on his hair frantically. Hand or no hand, I was going to finish if he kept it up, and— “I want your _arse,_ Potter.”

Potter lifted off, letting my cock slip from his mouth. His eyes were hazy, his cheeks a deep red. He rose to his feet, breathing unsteadily, and swallowed. He cocked his head. “Do you? Really?”

“You complete shit.” I scowled. It occurred to me that if he’d really been looking for a way to get rid of me, he might have found it; I had no doubt I’d have my revenge if he walked out now, which would cost me my hard-earned placement here.

Licking his lips, Potter moved with a swiftness that startled me — and crawled _over_ me, rather than stalking away. Merlin fuck, he’d taken off the rest of his clothing. I’d not a clue when he’d done it but he had, and he was completely, mouthwateringly bare, every rangy muscle bunching and on display as he sat over my thighs. The weight of his impressively thick cock, flushed and drooling, thumped against my belly. It rose with a jerk, and settled again, and I reached for it, for him, without thinking. Potter grabbed my wrist and pressed it to the mattress. “No.”

I blinked at him, dizzy again in that way I couldn’t put a name to, frustration roaring through me like Fiendfyre. “No, _what?_ ”

“Tell me you hate me,” he said, face hovering above mine. “Say it.”

My tongue felt thick, my mouth dry. The words were always there, _always_. I should have been able to say them, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, I surged up and kissed him, swallowing his long exhale and taking the reins like I should have from the start. Potter flexed his thighs and began grinding his cock against my stomach, hips mimicking a slow fuck as he rose and fell and gasped. He loosened my wrist to clutch at my waist and jerked out of our kiss to skim his teeth along the length of my throat, but I barely felt it; I was too busy fitting my hand between his thighs and probing at his hole, fingers slicked with the only wordless charm in my repertoire. Potter shuddered and spread his legs wider, nodding against my neck when I pushed in. I worked him open as swiftly as I could without hurting him, one finger and then two, three, letting the needy little sounds he made against my skin guide me. 

When I pulled my hand away, I was trembling, and Potter paused and breathed against me for a long moment. Then he shuffled into position, grabbed my cock and rubbed it twice against his rim, and sank down. I tried not to move, but honestly I couldn’t say now whether I slammed up to meet him or behaved; it seemed to take forever and no time at all before he softened around me, accepted me. I was fully lodged, his buttocks resting against my pelvis. He was still so fucking tight after prep I couldn’t stop the groan tearing from my throat, so hot and wet around me I had to measure the sound of my panting so I didn’t hyperventilate. I heard a small gulp, and then Potter straightened and began riding me. 

It was unhurried, as though he knew I’d be gone if he went any faster, or it could have been posturing; he had to know what he looked like on top, coppery nipples tightened to hard points, his stomach and thighs rippling with tension and his cock slapping gently over the flat of my belly on each downstroke. He looked shameless, like every wet dream I’d ever had and some I never could have thought up on my own, eyes dark and skin blotchy with arousal, the rise and fall of his body driving me closer and closer to my climax. Helplessly, I ran my hands up to his chest and back down; I wanted to touch every part of him, wanted to _own_ him, and that’s when the words fell out of my mouth. “I hate you, Harry. I really fucking—”

He exhaled, hips moving in that same, slow rock that kept my cock buried deep, and nodded. “I’m close. Make me come.”

Goddamn him.

I folded my fingers around his cock, Harry’s gaze intense on my face. He felt hot in my hand, and his rhythm sped up to match every stroke I made, his cock poking out of my fist. Harry pressed his hands flat over my ribs and fucked my grip, the tendons of his neck standing out. He choked out, “Draco. Fuck— _please_ ,” face twisting, lip catching between his teeth, and I lost my breath, slamming up into him and pulling on him until the soft grunts he made deepened, lengthened, until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began, and every muscle in his body was quivering. I thumbed over the head of his prick, and felt it start: his slick inner muscles tightening, his cock jerking in my grip. He shot over my stomach, leaning back across my thighs and moaning, arse spasming around my cock again and again. And before he was finished, he heaved himself forward to drag his fingers through the stripes of come on my skin, and brought them expectantly to my mouth. I parted my lips with a groan, sucking Harry’s spunk from his fingers, the astringent, earthy flavour and his resumed bounces above me barrelling me over the edge as well. I came hard, panting and gripping his hips in place, arse rising off the mattress like my body thought I might be able to stuff more of itself inside him if I only tried. 

Harry was shaking, and he held himself still for several moments before wilting forward to collapse against my chest. He lifted his head and kissed me, eyes heavy-lidded but not closed, mouth lazy. My cock pulsed inside him again, jerking lightly, and he wiggled his hips from side to side and smiled. “You don’t hate me,” he said — and then yawned in my fucking face.

I pushed him off and attempted a glare but my heart wasn’t in it, and anyway, I’d caught his yawn. It had to be after midnight. I just needed to close my eyes. I’d know how to deal with the repercussions of shagging my worst enemy in a moment.

* * *

Haha. Wake up, Draco. Wake up you _complete shit for brains_ , you’ve started hallucinating when you’re horny.

It was no use. Five hours, seven hastily whispered spells, four pinches to my thigh and the start of one splendid bruise later, and I’d still not managed to vanish Harry from my bed.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Maybe it _was_ a hallucination. Maybe I’d inhaled some fumes from a toxic potion earlier — first years’ in particular were awful at listening to instruction. If one of them had mistook nightshade for nettle, I could very well be at death’s door. I lifted the hand resting at the small of Harry’s back and carefully poked him. He seemed pretty solid, but that might be the case if this were a death dream, right? I poked him again. 

“What crisis are you having _now?_ ” my hallucination mumbled in his voice. “Ow. Quit it. Ow! Draco!”

Fuuuuck.

Harry — the real, live Harry Potter, whom I’d very definitely shagged — lifted his head. His hair was a disaster, as though he’d been caught in an electricity-dampening spell, and he gave me a disgruntled scowl before fumbling his glasses on. His expression shifted to one of concern, something that might have bothered me, if I had any expectation of lasting through the next minute. As it was, I couldn’t really breathe or feel my face.

“Malfoy. Draco. Look at me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. Probably should have done that from the start.

“Draco!” I heard him blow out a breath. “Are you having a panic attack or just being a complete wanker?”

“Go away, this didn’t happen.”

“Wanker, fine. Merlin, you’re difficult,” he bitched, and I felt him yank at the coverlet and roll over. Outraged, I opened my eyes and stared at the back of his shoulders. 

“ _I’m_ difficult? You’re—”

“We’ve established who I am,” he said, and because he was just as Machiavellian as I’d always suspected, added, “and exactly what I’ll let you do to me when you’re not a dickhead about everything. When you are, you get my back.”

This was preposterous. “It’s my bed! Go away!”

“Yeah, and I dried and cleaned it for us when you passed out. You’re welcome. Keep it up and I won’t let you fuck me for a week.”

“That’s exactly—!” I shut my mouth. I was starting to get a headache, but I’m not completely stupid.

“Mmhmm.”

Silence fell and I took a few minutes to gather my thoughts. First, I didn’t think I had a leg to stand on questioning Harry’s sexuality anymore. Second, Harry was refusing to leave my bed, as though we were some sort of… Third, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking of him as _Harry._

Also, my cock was getting hard. But there were still troll-sized pieces missing from the puzzle.

“Did…” I cleared my throat, smoothing the uncertain note from my voice. “Did you not hear me when I said I dislike you?” Hate, I’d meant to say hate.

His shoulders tensed. “Except that you don’t.”

“I think I can be the judge of—”

Harry rolled back over and pinned me with a look. “Really? Can you?” I glared at him and he huffed. “Draco, you stare at my arse every time I walk ahead of you—”

“Am I supposed to stare at my feet?”

He sighed and continued, “—and you sneak into my classroom to watch my duelling demonstrations—”

“I was _looking for something_ that day!”

“—and your erection tents your robes after every one of our meetings.”

“Unconscious biological response to being unable to do anything about someone I loathe,” I lied. “I used to get them for the Dark Lord, too.” 

We both paused.

“That was gross,” Harry said.

“Yeah, I didn’t really consider it.” 

“You fancy me,” he said flatly. He sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around his narrow hips, lips drawing into a thin line. “And we’ve been getting on, whether you want to admit it or not. In fact, until tonight, I was under the impression that we were… Well, not officially or anything, but we go out to eat together, and with everything else—”

“Potter, have you been under the impression we’re an _item?_ ” 

He gave me a sheepish look. “No. But I thought we were working our way there. And I thought you were good with it! _I’m_ not the one bringing tea and sandwiches to our meetings!”

I flushed. “None of that means—”

“Plus, Hermione said so,” Harry finished triumphantly.

“Granger does not have the final word in my love life, thank you!”

Harry arched a brow, so smug I was tempted to punch him. 

“I just meant! You know what, Potter, _fine!_ ” I threw myself back against my pillow. “We’ll just be madly in love, shall we? Work together, eat together, go on holiday and fuck each other’s brains out, and forget the rest of it. How does that sound!”

“A bit like a temper tantrum, but Teddy is almost five, so I’m used to them,” he said. He slid down to curl against me, releasing a slow breath and watching my face as he tentatively draped his calf over my knees. “And the rest sounds, well, good, if we can get there. Except I’d not particularly like to wait until we were on holiday for the fucking.”

Of course not, not with the way his prick was pressing into my hip. I frowned. Maybe squirmed. “You make it sound easy.”

“Well, it can be,” he said, trailing his fingers over my chest. He found one of my nipples and thumbed it. “Or— less complicated than you think..”

“Don’t presume to know my thoughts on the subject. I didn’t even know you were—” I gestured to him irritably and he snorted.

“Well, you responded appropriately enough upon finding out.” He skimmed his hand down my stomach and rubbed over my erection, which I’d been dutifully ignoring. “You’re responding pretty well now, too.”

“Unconscious biological reaction to getting wanked off.”

“Malfoy?” 

“What.”

“Stop thinking,” Harry said. He propped his chin on his forearm and looked at me, green eyes vivid and soft and warm. Merlin to Christ. I didn’t know what in my life I’d ever done to deserve this— this _torture_. But if I had any hope of it happening again, I might have to take his advice. 

“You’re the expert,” I said, and Harry smirked. 

“In all things. I am Harry fucking Potter, you know.” He kissed me — slow, easy. “Try not to forget it.”

I kissed him back. Why not? 

I was pretty sure I could manage that part, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are so freaking lovely. Also, I'm on [tumblr](bixgirl1.tumblr.com) now, too! *waves*  
> (And so is [mzuul!](mzuul.tumblr.com) :D)
> 
>  
> 
> **Please don't repost. Thank you!**


End file.
